


It's All Fine

by apliddell



Series: It Is What It Is [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Domestic Johnlock, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Parentlock, Post-Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-17 23:29:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10604532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apliddell/pseuds/apliddell
Summary: John Watson has moved back into 221B, and things are starting to make sense again.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AugustaAugustus18](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AugustaAugustus18/gifts).



“Well Watson, what do you think? Will your father be pleased with it? Are you pleased with it, come to that?” Lift Baby Watson out of her cot and walk her about the room. John’s old room. John’s new room. And Baby Watson’s. Starting tonight. John’ll be home(home)(!!!) from work soon. Baby Watson babbles and smacks me in the nose. I have decided that these gestures are affectionate. I stroke her cheek as I dandle her, and she grabs my thumb and drags it toward her mouth. “Are you hungry Watson, or only teething? Hmm?” Gently extricate my hand and try the sign for food. Baby Watson claps both hands against my shoulder and blows a raspberry. Kiss the tip of her nose, “You’re so exactly like your father. Well come along. He’ll be in soon, and I suppose there ought to be dinner waiting for him.” Set the baby on the bed and strap on her carrier, then lift her into it. Baby Watson kicks companionably as we descend into the kitchen to see about dinner. 

Front door opens as I’m slicing a courgette, and I pause to listen to John’s quick, light tread on our stairs. Seven years since I heard it first, and it still rather makes my insides dance(was I used to it when he first lived here? I must have been, or I’d have accomplished nothing)(I was used to being near to John all the time)(I will be again). 

“Wow,” John says when he reaches the sitting room. 

Baby Watson and I join him, “Wow what?” John comes to kiss Baby Watson and stroke her hair before he answers me. 

“It’s so clean in here!”

“Oh that. You got me so excited for no reason, John. I caught Watson with her mouth on the poker this morning, so I thought I had better tidy up. I did a bit for the room upstairs as well. Hope you’ll be comfortable.”

John smiles playfully, “All the time I lived with you, and I could get nothing out of you, then Rosie’s got you wrapped round her finger in about five seconds.” John leans in to kiss the baby again. She squeals happily and grabs at his hair. 

“Not nothing!” somehow can’t even feign indignation, though I am being maligned to my very face. “Watson, tell your father he’s out of order.”

John squeezes the baby’s socked foot, “Rosie, tell your dad that moving a pile of rubbish from a table to a chair while griping loudly every six months doesn’t count as housekeeping.” My brain gets very hot at that, and I miss the rest of what John’s saying til he raises his grinning face to meet my eye, “I’ll take her for a bit, if you like. Give you a rest.”

Nod and unfasten Baby Watson to pass her over, and am about to flee to the kitchen to hide my (surely glowing) face, but I pause, feeling silly (what would Ella say?)(Avoidance, Sherlock! If you want to know the answer, you’re going to have to ask the question). “John. Erm. Dad?” 

John had been making for the sofa, but he turns back to me, “Sorry, what? Did you just call me Dad?”

Huff (of all the moments to be difficult!), “No! You just. You called me her dad. You said. I am.” Not perfect, but better than nothing (progress!). 

“Oh. Yeah.” John rocks the baby, looking rather sheepish. “I was meaning to. Anyway well. You’re her godfather. And she’s er.” John backs towards the sofa and sits down when he bumps against it, then beckons with a nod and waits for me to join him before he takes up his sentence again. Quiet and calm and looking right at me, “Well. She’s. She’s down a parent, isn’t she? I mean not that M-. Well. Anyway. You’ve been er. Promoted. Okay?”

Nod, “Ah. Okay. Yes.” Can scarcely look at John. He’s like a light. Dazzling. “Only erm. Molly and Mrs Hudson are also godparents. Have they been promoted as well?”

John smiles silently for a moment, his expression tender but sort of. Searching. “I’m still being an idiot, aren’t I? Sorry. Sherlock, do you remember. Hmm. I’ve only told you this once, I think, and that’s so stupid. You. I love you. You’re special to me. You’re the person I.” John coughs and kisses Baby Watson’s hair, and she gives his arm a rather encouraging slap. He continues, “You’re the person I do things with. Big things. Huge things. It’s stupid to pretend it isn’t true; we always come back to it. Always. Trying not to has been. Hell." John's shoulders sag at that and he drops his head. When he looks up again, his voice is softer still and almost fierce, "I know it isn't our fault she's gone. We didn't. When you told me I was going to be a father, all I could think was that. I wanted to do it with you. I knew then. And I thought for a while. Well. I wanted her gone. And then she was. And. It felt like." John swallows. His eyes are wet. 

I stroke his arm, press his hand (he lets me), "You didn't do that, John."

John clears his throat, sighs, "No. And nor did you. So. Do you feel. Do you. Is this. Okay? I’d been. It had gone so neat and simple in my head, and now it’s. I cocked it up. I love you. Cocked up as this all is. Being with you is not. Not cocked up, ah." He shakes his head and breaks into a grin, "I'm so rubbish. Sorry. I love you. You're not my second choice. You're her dad, too. Okay?”

Open my mouth, but I can’t seem to make any words rise to the surface, so I only nod. Nod and nod, and John grins at me. 

“I knew you’d say that. Feels good to be sure of things again, eh? I’d started to feel like I was going insane.”

“You’re not insane.” My voice rasps. I clear my throat, “I love you, too.”

John beams, “I know.” He shifts the baby off his lap to the sofa, then leans forward and kisses me lightly on the lips, “All right?”

As if he hasn’t just dropped a miracle into my lap. As if he hasn’t waked me from a dream. Or plunged me into one. Simple. Gentle. Easy.

I cup his jaw (his breath catches when I touch him)(!). I kiss him back, “Yes,” I tell him, when I find my voice. “All right.”


End file.
